Tuesday, September 22

Drained

We have new neighbours but I'm not sure exactly which apartment they have rented but I can hear them loud and clear through my bathroom drains. Loud and freakin' clear.

Ai, the joys of apartment living.

These new neighbours obviously have offspring which is unusual in this building full of decaying folk. Oh, that was slanderous ageism there -- bad motherbumper, bad. But seriously, the majority of the peeps we pass in the hallway are totally bench pressing a hundred - easy. Many of these octogenarians and octogenarian-wannabees are nice, many are nasty, and many smell like they've been attacked by an Avon rep; most days, walking through our lobby is like running a rest home gauntlet.

For the record I love old people, in fact some of my closest friends are old people.

*sigh* I miss how the elder locals used to ignore me before I became a parent. Now I have to try to outrun some of them and their unsolicited advice -- or worse, their poking fingers that try to touch my child in what I assume is an attempt to steal her youthful pixie gold.

Anyhow, new blood in the building:

For the past week, whenever I'm in the washroom, I can hear the new neighbours. A yelling child and a sometimes-sounding-exasperated woman. Their voices come up (down?) through the drains and temporarily distract me from the swarm of fruit flies around my head.

It's weird hearing a child's voice instead of an extra-loud episode of Law and Order or Lloyd Robertson reading the national news. I swear that who ever lived in the pipe-amplifying apartment before this family, had one of those reverse Whisper 2000 units attached to their television. Or maybe they had the telly in the bathtub. All I can say is that idiot box was loud.

But back to the new child: Sometimes I wonder if this kid is around G's age. Maybe I should try to seek them out to see if they are playdate material? Maybe the mom is my kind of people. It would be nice to know someone in the building who isn't rushing to knock off a few points on the bucket-list.

But then I remember my crippling shyness and general all around awkwardness and realize that even if I found them and they didn't think I was stalking them, I'd probably alienate them somehow. Blurt out something inappropriate, make offensive small talk, fart.

So I'll just keep sitting around, swatting the fruit flies away while wishing I could get my head out of my butt long enough to demonstrate to my child that making friends isn't really that hard at all. Because it isn't, is it?

There's a house for sale next door to me. It needs some work, but the perk is it's next door to me, so the work thing is just a detail. If you have a hankerin' to move to Iowa - where, I assure you, few of us actually use the word 'hankerin'' - I shall allow you to stalk me on days when I am not stalking you.

Also, based on how often my doorbell rings and there's a kids face peering in the screen door, the neighbors certainly aren't scared of the way I'm always (sometimes) loudly cheering my kids on to eat or stop touching each other, etc. Just in case, though, that house next door to me? It has a fence. You could remain hidden if you want.

Yes you COULD make the effort, and they COULD have a child the right age- and it could be great.

Or not.

When the parents of kids exactly the same ages as our two moved in across the street, we were very happy- until the parental peer pressure kicked in a scant few weeks later. Then we were in high school again, constantly reminded how inadequate we are... Sh*t, I never expected that! Can we send THEM your way?!

I'm shy too. Seriously. When we moved into our neighborhood I was overjoyed at all the moms and kids. Turned out they were all Stepford Wife types as you can only find in THE OC. Now my kids are all teens so all that playdate crap is past us. Thank Gawd. They sit around comparing plastic surgeons and I wave as I drive down the street.